Safest Place to Hide
by patsypotter
Summary: Hermione is scared of how her marriage seemed to be falling apart, when one day she gets the unexpected. Rated for violence, sex and language. Some RW/HG and HP/GW but will end up being HP/HG.
1. Under Attack

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

**A.N.: So, I must warn you for this one... The idea for this story came to me while talking to a friend of mine, who really loves Ron to death. As I don't, I told her that he would be the sort of husband who abused of his wife. So, yes, this story is quite aggressive. If you don't cope well with ****violence, language, rape and Weasley bashing****, LEAVE THIS PAGE NOW. To those who don't mind, ****read and review****. I'm sure this will develop into something you will enjoy :)**

Chapter 1 - Under Attack

She heard the door slam and she knew he was home. Her heart stopped for a split second, as she heard him walk against everything in his way. He had been drinking again, for no apparent reason as always. Every event seemed to be a good enough reason to celebrate over Firewhiskey, and Merlin knows what else. She feared for her life every time he'd walk home drunk, he wasn't the same person.

They had been married little over a year, and everything seemed to move south from then on. Apart from their honeymoon, he had never been the same caring man he used to be, no longer did he surprise her, nor did he look happy to crawl under her arms after a tiring day of work. Nothing was the way he promised her; he was possessive in an uncomfortable way, angry whenever she wanted to go out; they were breaking apart and she new it, for as much as it hurt her, there was no turning back, no way to make it right again.

Suddenly the sound of clattering pots and shattering china rang through her ears, and made her thoughts freeze in mid-air. He had toppled over something - again.

'HERMIONE!' he yelled from the kitchen, making her shudder from head to toe, 'GET YOUR FUCKING ASS HERE AND HELP ME!'

She hated how he addressed her when he was in that state; he became more aggressive than ever, both verbally and physically. Reluctantly, she got up from bed and climbed down the stairs to meet her fallen husband. As she got to the kitchen, she saw him laying on his back, a glass on his hand, and a jug of water fallen over the counter and dripping water everywhere. _'What a sight_,' she thought to herself as a disgusted look took over her expression.

'What's that look for?' he asked as she held out her hand for him to grab.

'Don't you want to take a guess?' she replied in a disgusted voice.

'You better not talk to me in that tone, missy.'

The harsh tone did not make her back down and quickly replied, 'Oh, guess what? I just did and-'

She didn't have time to speak again or think of another comeback. His hand flew towards her face and landed on her cheekbone with a loud smack. Tears flooded her eyes, pain pulsed through her, and his handprint was painted across her visage. Never in her lifetime had she been hit in reprehension, not even when she was younger did her father ever think about laying a hand on her. After regaining her composure, and making sure he was a arm's length from her, she said, 'You sicken me, Ronald.'

'Do I?' he said, walking clumsily towards her and withdrawing his wand from his pocket, 'You are my wife, and you will do whatever I say!'

'_I'm not a puppet you can play with, Ronald,_' she spat at him, her hand raised to cup the side of her face where he hit her. 'I can be your wife, but I still have my own rights…'

At this, he lowered his wand and quickly grabbed her by the wrists, dragging her towards the nearest wall. His face was red with anger, his breath was fouler than she imagined it would be; the smell of Firewhiskey and Butterbeer combined filled her nostrils, and she turned her head to the side to avoid inhaling that nauseating smell, but he didn't care: he pushed himself against her and brushed his lips on her hurt cheek. 'You don't talk to me like that, Hermione. Don't do it, for your own sake.'

'Get off me,' she mumbled, trying to avoid his touch but failing miserably. His grasp was firm and hurtful, and she could't find a way out of that confined position.

'Don't tell me what to do,' he breathed into her ear, the smell making her sicker by the second, 'Now get your arse back to bed.' He let go of her, but hung close to her, watching her every move.

She was more scared than she had ever been. Rubbing her wrists, she started walking out of the kitchen and through the living room, but before she climbed the first step of the stairs, she felt his wand being raised behind her back. That night wasn't going to be the best, it wasn't going to be remotely calm, on the contrary, it was already the worst she had had. Thoughts were racing through her mind; that wasn't the marriage she had hoped to have. Since she was five, she imagined how loving her husband would be, how happy they would be, what their wedding would be like. Now, at the age of twenty one, her dreams had been shattered: the marriage hurried by her mother-in-law, the lack of affection, the way Ron seemed to want to drive her away from everything she had ever had, and now he had just slapped her, hopefully out his drunk state.

What would come next she didn't even dare to think; he could just roll over on bed and sleep, or he could take his rage even further. As she stepped into the bedroom and approached the bed, she turned around, facing him. Her eyes were filled with tears and she could't help but sob at the sight of her husband pointing his wand at her. 'Please, Ron… Let's talk this over like two grown ups,' she pleaded, even though she knew that wouldn't help their fallen union.

He didn't answer and instead pushed her to the bed, in which she landed with a louder thud than she imagined. She laid there, motionless and speechless, afraid of being menaced with something more, afraid of not making it through the night.

Putting his wand aside, he crawled on to bed and ran his hand through her leg and beneath her nightgown. His touch was rough, uncontrolled, and she could feel his arousal pulsing against her thigh, at which she shuddered lightly. _'He can't. He wouldn't,'_ she thought as panic started to take over. She tried to push him away, but could't do it. His bulk structure was too heavy for her weak arms to move when he was sober, let alone when he was that drunk. As he noticed her unwillingness to subside to him, he reached for his wand again and cast a Full Body-Bind Curse on her. She could't move, she could't talk, which didn't mean she could't feel.

His body fell harshly on top of hers; his weight was suffocating, her eyes were filled with tears. She could feel his rough hands brushing against her skin, making her soul clench inside her. Without further notice, he dived inside her dry womanhood and she felt tears falling on her cheeks from the pain it caused. She could't feel pleasure, she just wanted to roll out from beneath him and run, run somewhere where she felt safe, where she knew someone would take her in their arms and rock her to sleep, away for all those demons her marriage had created.

As he reached his climax, he rolled out to her side, breathlessly saying the counter-curse to release her. With that done, he fell asleep almost immediately, and she could't help but letting the tears roll down from her eyes and into her pillow. She was torn apart; every inch of her body ached now more pointedly, almost sure that she would have bruises all over her stomach and thighs. It was a nightmare, it hand't happened, but her pain was far from imaginary. She really liked him, not to say she loved him, and he had managed to ruin everything that was still good between them.

She was unable to sleep; it hurt too much. Lately they had been discussing the pros and cons of having their first child, and now this. She could't bear the thoughts of having a child growing in such an abusive environment, not after what happened. What were the chances that his drinking would stop after they conceived? How could she stop him from doing that? Probably it would go on. Probably she wouldn't even make it through full-term, for one night he could come home the same way he had done tonight, and do the same thing to her and their unborn child.

Accusing him could lead her into a deeper abyss. That hadn't been the first time he talked to her out of his drunken state, but this time it was different. There was no way that he could make up to her this time, there was no conversation that could make it work, none except one: the one where she would tell him that it was over. She could't handle it anymore, she could't and she wouldn't be baby-sitting him all her life. He was a grown man (or so she thought), he could look out for himself.

The morning dawned too soon, and the light that stubbornly wanted to enter through the curtains finally laid itself upon her bruised face. She struggled to get out of bed; he body wasn't aching as badly as it did before she finally got to sleep, but it still hurt whenever she moved. Finally, she managed to walk down to the kitchen where she started to repair and clean all that Ron had thrown down when he got home.

She stopped for a few moments as she passed through a glass case: she could see the damage he had done to her; the bruise from the smack, the dark circles around her eyes from her incapacity of falling asleep, and the bruises on her wrists. Her lower lip trembled at her own sight and tried to contain a sob from escaping her mouth, but instead muffled it with her hand. She looked dreadful and it was his fault.

Hours later, she heard Ron walking across the hallway and down the stairs. He was still dressed with the clothes he had worn the day before, his red hair was messy, and his hands were massaging his forehead in an attempt to ease the headache she knew he would have. 'Bloody hell, my head hurts,' he said as he approached her from behind, resting one of his hands on top of her shoulder.

'Oh, does it?' she replied angrily as she turned to him, letting him see the damage he had done to her.

His eyes widened at her sight. 'What happened? How did you get those bruises?'

'I figured you wouldn't remember…' she said coldly, 'You did them. You came home pissed drunk last night, and you decided I wasn't behaving accordingly to your "wife's rights", so you smacked me,' she continued, her expression shifting with her words to a disgusted frown. She paused to let a lone tear roll down her face. 'And then you menaced me with your wand… You made me have sex with you, but I didn't want to, so you thought best to put a curse on me so you could have the night of your life…' her voice trailed away as she lowered her head to hide the falling tears.

'Hermione, I'm sorry-'

'_You're sorry?_' she bellowed, her face redder than ever. 'You disgraced our marriage! There's no way I'm forgiving you for this one, you miserable beast! I should have never married you, I should't have let you taken me for granted!'

He tried to reach out to her but she turned away. 'Don't you dare touch me _ever_ again! I want a divorce, I want you out of my life - FOREVER!'

'But I was drunk, Hermione… I wasn't acting accordingly.'

'Don't give me that talk again, Ronald, it's not going to stick this time. I'm you wife, not a toy you can throw around and have sex with! In case you never noticed, I have feelings too, I get hurt and I'm as free as you are. We're done, Ronald, there's nothing you can do about it.'

His face grew redder at her words, and quickly grabbed her by the arm. 'You can't do that, I won't let you,' he spat at her, his grip tightening around her arm. 'You promised, like I did, that we'd always be together.' His expression had turned to a grimace, and she tried to free herself from his grip so that she could run away from him.

'Well, promises can be broken… Especially when the man you married isn't the same person anymore,' she said as she looked him in the eye, a disgusted look upon her face.

'You filthy whore…'

He finally released her arm, but as soon as she thought she had made her point and he turned back to leave, she was surprised once again by another slap. She felt her face heating up and tears dried in her eyes. That was the last drop, but for some reason she could't react. This time, he walked out of the kitchen and locked himself up in the bathroom. It took her just a few seconds to acknowledge that he was now at a safe distance, and quickly got herself together and quickly made her way to the bedroom.

As she packed all her belongings in her suitcase and managed to dress something that would hide her bruises, she tried to contain the tears and the screams of anger and disgust. She was not spending another day in that place, she was not going to let him hurt her over and over again. She needed to leave, she needed someone's arms to crawl under, her safe place.

She grabbed her suitcase and, with a loud _pop_, she Disapparated with her mind set for never returning there.


	2. Sinking

**A.N.: I'm so sorry this chapter took so long, but I had the worst week of my life. I had too much to do this week so I had to postpone the fanfic until all my essays were done. Now, about the story itself: this one is in Harry's PoV, so you can perceive both characters' feelings. Though, I must admit that this chapter is not too good... I had a muse problem when I started it, so please forgive me! On another note, thank you for reviewing the last chapter, your comments really made my heart a little warmer :) But I won't keep you anymore, so get reading and don't forget to review!**

* * *

Nothing was going the way he had planned. Everything in his relationship seemed to be a winding road, leading nowhere. He really liked her, actually he adored her, but something was not right; it wasn't either him or her, it was their love which seemed to burn lighter with each passing day. In times like these, he wondered if he had done the right thing when he finally ran back to her arms. How could he know if she really had stuck with him while he was absent? How could he know if she never stropped thinking about him, worrying about him? What would tell him that she didn't go looking for someone else to comfort her? He shook his head vehemently, as if he was shaking away his own thoughts.

Ginny Weasley had been Harry's only reason to stay alive during his turbulent seventh year, but now he could't take the next step forward. Nightmares invaded his sleep every night: either the faces of his lost loved ones, or how things would be if Voldemort had been victorious. He was afraid, afraid of everything going back to the way it had been two years before, afraid of not being able to be the person she wanted him to be.

After watching his two best friends getting married, Harry felt that he was being left behind. Even though he had Ginny to fill that gap for his absent friends, it still wasn't enough; they were missing something, something he could't quite put his finger on. He wasn't prepared to take such a serious and large step forward with her, maybe because of what he had lived during his short life time, or maybe because he feared that his nightmares would flee his mind and come true, risking her life and his own for her. She expected him to be the person he didn't get the chance to be while he was in school, but for some reason he could't do it. All his life he was more worried about others rather than himself, his friends were his priority, and this time it was no different.

He missed his friends; he missed the days they spent together, trying to solve crazy mysteries; he missed their reassuring words and hugs. But their lives had taken different paths: Ron followed his dream of becoming a Quidditch player for the Chuddley Cannons (what made the team leave the bottom of the charts, but they still didn't achieve their grandiose victory); Hermione had re-started S.P.E.W., but this time in a more official fashion, having involved the Ministry this time; Ginny followed her brother's footsteps and signed in for the Holyhead Harpies, which Harry didn't quite accept well because of the large amount of male fans; and Harry, after taking his N.E.W.T's, joined the Auror Squad and was now in intensive training. Their lives weren't the same compared to just a few years back, and little was the time they had to sit down and talk.

But there was someone he missed most. Hermione didn't talk to him for a long time now; he didn't know why she stopped writing to him shortly after Ron and her came back from their honeymoon. The only news he got from her was when Ron wrote to him or met him in Diagon Alley, other from that he thought Hermione was acting differently towards him. As he thought back to their years back at Hogwarts and during the Horcrux hunt, he realised that Hermione started to act differently towards him around their sixth year, which coincided with when he started to fancy Ginny. He shook his head. That could't be the reason she wasn't writing to him, or coming over to his place.

He feared that something was wrong with her, something bad.

Suddenly, a loud _crack _echoed from the living room and he jolted upwards, his wand held up, and walked towards the source of the noise. As he reached the living room, he saw Ginny in her Quidditch dark green robes, her hair tied up in a pony tail. 'Oh, it's you,' he said lowering his wand and approaching her with a hug.

'Of course it's me, silly. Who did you expect it to be?' she replied, planting a kiss on his cheek.

'I just wasn't expecting you to visit me,' he said simply, looking down at his attire, which wasn't the best one to receive his girlfriend.

Ginny smiled lovingly at him. 'We could't practise today… Too rainy. So I thought I should come to see you. We haven't had the time all week thanks to your Auror training…'

'Yeah, I s'pose you're right,' replied Harry, a lopsided smile.

She gave him a worried look, her hand resting on the side of his arm. 'What's wrong?'

'N- nothing,' he stammered.

'The hell it's nothing… Come on, tell me,' she pressed him, enveloping his arm in a tight hug.

He hesitated for a moment, but finally managed to find the words, 'Have you been with Hermione lately?'

'Why do you ask?' she said, letting go of his arm and looking quizzically at him. 'No, I haven't been with her since that day at the Burrow, when Ron and her came back from their honeymoon… I guess she's been too busy.'

'I just find it strange… She hasn't been writing either, I just hope she's alright.'

'You worry too much, just let it go… She'll write soon enough,' she said with a comforting smile upon her face.

He smiled back at her, letting her warmth fill him in, but suddenly he felt his thoughts getting back at him. Uncertainty and confusion washed all over his face; he cared so much for her, but still could't give her what she needed. 'Ginny…' he started, 'do you think we're still the same way we were two years ago?'

Her sweet expression faded quickly. 'No…' she said, letting her head fall slowly towards her chest. 'There's something missing.'

The sound of her words made him feel worse than he already did; it was a mutual feeling, at least. But he could't help but feel bad about it: he tried everything, but time wouldn't play for their side, and people seemed to make it worse. 'You know I've tried, don't you?' he asked quietly, taking a step towards her and stretching his arms out to hug her.

'Yes, you did. And so did I, but it seems we were not meant to be…'

'I bet there are lots of other guys out there for you,' he replied, kissing the top of her head, chuckling slightly. 'I can always play the big brother role.'

She looked up to him with a frown on her face. 'You better be kidding, Ron's already enough,' she said with a gloomy expression. At this, he could't help but laugh at how she disliked being the youngest child.

Suddenly, a cry came from the next room. Harry let out a sigh, breaking the hug with Ginny. Teddy had just woken up. Every since the Battle, Harry was left with Lupin and Tonks's child, and wanted to be the godfather to him that Sirius never had the chance to be with. He loved that kid, actually he was his biggest preoccupation these days, and - Merlin forbid - he would never let anything bad happen with him.

'I would help you with him, but Mum's waiting for me,' said Ginny apologetically, kissing him briefly on the cheek and Disapparated shortly after.

Harry walked in Teddy's room; he still slept in a cradle, which he was now kicking and punching for release. The fact that Teddy was a metamorphmagus like his mother, and still didn't have much control over that kind of magic, Harry would know exactly what his godson needed: his hair usually turned a bright red whenever he was angry, or blue when he was sad. That was quite a great help when it came to bringing up a child.

As he approached the small child, he stopped crying almost instantly and held up his little arms towards him. 'Had a good nap, Teddy?' Harry asked as he picked the child up.

'Floor!' demanded Teddy, punching Harry's arms as his hair changed slowly to light brown. Finding himself on the ground at last, Teddy said, 'T'was good… Where's Aunt Ginny?'

'She left already…' said Harry with a lopsided smile.

Teddy's expression became sad at his godfather's words. 'Oh,' he said quietly, 'I thought she was staying with us…'

'Don't worry, kid… You'll see her when you go to the Burrow, later tonight. Today she won't be busy with Quidditch, you know?'

'Really?' the kid replied, his face lighting up with joy, and his hair turning blonder with each second.

Harry chuckled at the boy's reaction. 'Now, now… Let's have a bath and get you ready to go. Molly will kill me if you don't look taken care of.'

The boy smiled broadly and nodded. 'Harry… If you and Ginny break up, can I be her boyfriend?' Teddy asked, out of t drawed he blue.

'Sure, kid… But you'll have to wait some more years.'

* * *

As the afternoon drew to the close, Harry hurried Teddy inside the fireplace, handing him a vase of Floo Powder. He needed some time to himself, some time to think about his talk with Ginny, to think about what he would be doing now. He felt as if he was sinking, falling slowly into darkness again; somehow, he had gone back to be the boy in the cupboard under the stairs, or at least he felt like that. Everything was crumbling.

'See you tomorrow, Teddy,' he said, running his hand through his godson's hair. The boy grinned at him, and Harry watched him being swallowed by purple flames as he spoke out his destination.

He wouldn't lie: Teddy was a very important piece in his life, but he had to let out a sigh of relief whenever he spent the night at the Burrow; a two year old was fun to be around, but it was also tiring. Parenthood wasn't in his near future plans, but Teddy was an exception. But not he could't think of anyone else but Hermione. He was worried about her absence, worried that she may not be in perfect conditions.

The more he asked Ron about her, the least he said about her. He would always say that she was busy or that she was at home sick. Something wasn't quite right there; she had always been keen on seeing him, on spending time with him, but now she seemed too distant. That wasn't like Hermione at all. She had always been there for him, she used write him every two days during summer holidays (except for those summers when Dobby intercepted all his letters or when Dumbledore told her and Ron not to write him). She cared for him, of that he was sure, but every since she and Ron got married, things had taken an one hundred and eighty degrees turn. He didn't know why she had stopped talking to him all the sudden, he needed her, now more than ever.

As night drew on, Harry's thoughts grew darker. He needed to talk to someone, he needed to vent his thought through going out, having fun, taking his mind off what was troubling him. Suddenly, Pigwidgeon zoomed through the living room's open window, carrying a scroll that seemed to big for her. Harry approached the small owl and grabbed the scroll from her leg, and tapped the top of her head with two fingers before she zoomed out of the window into the night.

_Harry,_

_If you're not too busy tonight, I'd like you to come to Hogsmeade so we can (finally) celebrate the first victory of the Cannons. All boys night, Neville, Dean and Seamus are also coming, so don't be a wuss and get yourself over. Be at the Hog's Head by 11 p.m._

_Ron._

He read the note throughly at least twice; his call for help seemed to have been heard by Ron, even though he did not know that there was a Quidditch game that night, or even if it was possible that the Chuddley Cannons could win a game. He shrugged and looked at his watch: 10:30. Leaving the letter on top of the nearest table, Harry made his way to his room and changed into a pair of new jeans and threw his robes on.

The moment he set foot in Hogsmeade, all that was bothering him seemed to vanish instantly. There was something about that village that made him feet at ease. Maybe it was because that had been the place where he used to hang out with his friends, where happy memories resided; a Patronus to his inner Dementors. It was springtime, and Hogsmeade seemed not to be affected by the grey and rainy days it usually meant for anyone who lived in London.

'Hi, Harry,' called a familiar voice. Harry turned around and found Neville standing serenely at the entrance of the Hog's Head. 'I reckon you're just here for Ron,' he said jokingly.

'Obviously I'm not here for the Cannons,' he replied with a small smile. 'Did Hermione come too?'

'Nope,' he started, 'There're no women inside, only over-content men who find that women cannot last longer than a minute in these kind of celebrations…'

Harry's smile dropped. How could she not come to celebrate her husband's very first victory ever since he entered the Gryffindor Quidditch team? 'Oh,' he whispered, 'I thought she would come…'

Neville gestured him towards the bar's door; Harry nodded and followed him inside. Once inside, the smell of Firewhiskey and Butterbeer filled his nostrils. Behind the counter, stood a very cheerful Aberforth, who was sporting a replica of the Cannons's robes. Harry was sure that most of the drinks he was handing out were being given away, a good way to lose some money after such an emotional victory. The bar was packed with bulky men, who were chugging gallons of Butterbeer at once or cheering for the hundredth time their team's victory over a glass of Firewhiskey. Chants were being sung all over, except for one table at the corner: Dean and Seamus were sitting there, with disapproving looks on their faces.

'Harry!' greeted Seamus as he stood up from his chair, his hand held up ready to shake Harry. 'I thought Ron meant to have a celebration just for his friends…'

Suddenly, Ron emerged from the crowd, still wearing his Quidditch robes, and made his way towards him, his arms stretched out. 'Mate, you came!' he said. His breath was foul, Harry knew he had already had too much. Ron pulled Harry into a weird hug, and when he finally decided to let go of him he said: 'I'm so pissed, right now.'

He could tell; his breath stank, his robes smelled like Firewhiskey, and his speech was noticeably slurred. How could Hermione approve of that? Knowing her the way he did, he knew that she wouldn't be too pleased about Ron going home smelling like booze and vomit. He smiled awkwardly at his best friend. 'Yeah, it looks like it… But hey, why didn't Hermione come?'

Ron's expression shifted suddenly. 'She's home… Working or whatever,' he said tonelessly. 'But as she isn't here, let's have some fun,' he added as if trying to avoid the Hermione subject, and summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey. He poured a great amount of the liquid on his own glass and handed another glass for Harry. 'Bottoms up!'

* * *

The effects of the several glasses of alcohol Ron had forced him to drink had not yet lifted when Harry woke up the next morning. His head was spinning slightly as he opened up his eyes, and he felt his stomach flipping uncomfortably inside his body. Being hungover wasn't the best feeling, especially when he knew that Teddy would be getting there in a couple of hours.

Holding the urge to be sick, he rushed to his drawer and grabbed a flask of Alcohol Antidote, which he drank in a matter of minutes. The headache vanished almost instantly, but the uncomfortable feeling on his stomach still persisted. He made his way towards his bed and laid on top of it, in order to give time for the potion to work its wonders.

After what seemed to be seconds to him, a loud _crack_ echoed from the living room. He looked at the clock in his bedside table: he had dozed off for two hours, and probably that was Mrs. Weasley arriving with Teddy, which meant he would have to sit through one of her lectures about responsibility. He rushed to his drawer again and pulled out the first shirt he set his hand on, and put on the pyjamas pants he left on the floor the day before.

'Just a second!' he exclaimed, toppling on his pants as he tried to dress them while walking.

When he reached the living room, the scene was not what he was expecting. There was no Mrs. Weasley ready to fire jinxes at him, nor was there Teddy sporting a huge smile for seeing his godfather after a night away. Instead, a trunk was laying on the floor next to a skinny witch with bushy brown hair. Hermione's face was covered by locks of her own hair, glued to her face thanks to the tears she seemed to be crying. As she heard him coming out of his bedroom, her head jolted upwards and she ran towards him.

Befuddled, Harry wrapped his arms around her. She was sobbing uncontrollably against his chest as Harry tried to calm her down, caressing her back gently. He looked around and fixed his eyes on Hermione's trunk; where was she going with that? Why did she decide to show up after months of silence? He was unsure of how he should feel in that moment, whether feel happy for finally getting to be with his other best friend, or get mad at her for not hearing about her. As Hermione broke the hug, and as he got a clearer look of her face, he immediately decided.

A palm was painted red across her face and a bruise on the other side. Something didn't make sense; he couldn't imagine Ron being the aggressive type, or even get to the point of hitting someone he cared about. That couldn't have been him. Noticing that Harry was looking at her, Hermione swiftly turned away, taking her hands to cover the bruises on her face. 'Hermione…' he started, a worried look upon his face as he noticed she also had bruises on her wrists, 'what happened?'


End file.
